The Depth of Obsession
by Antigone1
Summary: A horrifying encounter with a native while on a diplomatic mission leaves Obi-Wan emotionally (and physically) torn apart. Will he hold himself responsible for the actions of another?
1. Remula

Hey all! I'm suffering from a bout of the sithly writer's block on NOC, but I was attacked by a rather persistent plot bunny – which I am now posting as a sort of peace offering. I'm pushing through darth WB and *hopefully* will get the next chapter up tomorrow (or today for all us east coasters) Hope you enjoy this!   
  
  
Disclaimer: George owns this little playground, I'm just having some fun on the monkey bars. I don't own anything recognizable. I also do not own the Verve Pipe's song "The Freshmen."   
  
  
**The opening quote will make sense in time.  
**Just a note, I don't do romance, so…this will not be one. =)  
  
"I can't be held responsible…  
She fell in love in the first place."  
"The Freshmen," Verve Pipe  
  
  
* * *   
  
  
Poorly muffled laughter vibrated off the stone walls, the sound collecting and magnifying in the half-circled ceiling of the deserted hallway before spilling back down, making the group's number seem far larger than its two. The padded footsteps skidded to a stop and, with a grunt of exertion, a heavy wooden door creaked open – the hinges protesting to centuries of ill-treatment – and the two beings dashed inside, slamming the abused door behind them.  
  
"Careful, Proxa!" A hushed voice warned, "If we get caught, I assure you, I will beat you myself."  
  
"Yes, milady," came the reply, the normally deferential words laced with amusement. "I am certain that – this time – you will carry through if we are discovered."  
  
"Don't push me, Proxa," the other growled as she moved across the darkened room, patting furniture surfaces blindly, "Sith! Did you bring any lighting sticks?"  
  
Proxa sighed, "What would you do without me, Nara?" Reaching into her robe pocket, she pulled out two long-stemmed lighting sticks and handed one to her companion, "Here."  
  
Proxa scraped the stick against the grey stoned wall, the wood hissing and snapping as the tip ignited, flaring briefly before subduing to a modest flame. She held it in front of her face, casting a weak veil of light over her continence, flickering over her pale skin and dulling her long, dark hair. Her eyes, however, drank in the sudden luminosity, allowing the flame to dance within its dark depths and giving the girl an almost ethereal – possessed – visage.   
  
She spoke as she turned to short table beside her, now faintly illuminated and shown to be cluttered with well used yellow wax candles, "Milady, in general, two people working on something tends to make the work end twice as fast."   
  
A moment of silence enveloped the chamber before a second scrape of wood against rock came and the flare which followed was illuminated the second girl. Shadows softened the boundaries of her features, but did little to question her beauty. Her raven hair was pulled up, a few stray strands carefully curled and positioned to hang becomingly in her face. Her brown eyes, in contrast to her companion's, were pleasantly accentuated by the orange flame. The fire seemed to merely lick at them rather than consume them, hinting more at laughter and amicability than need for an exorcism.   
  
In minutes, the entire room was ablaze with fifty-some lit candles – be they atop exquisitely carved dark, wooden tables and desks or fitted in beaten metal candleholders, decorated with delicate, handmade etchings of a language long since forgotten in favor of the universal Basic – along with two larger metal fire bowls, each secured on a elegantly simple, meter-tall metal stand and placed on either side of the worn wooden door. The flickering light revealed a spaciously furnished sitting room, themed in red. The richly upholstered furniture – two high-backed, wooden chairs, each fitted with its own intricately embroidered scarlet cushion, and a matching couch of the same fine make – while spread apart as to give the sitting more than enough personal space, were directed towards a beautifully ornamented fireplace.   
  
Proxa placed some kindling in the mouth of the structure, pulling the dry logs from the gilded firewood holder positioned on the low step separating the bottom of the fireplace and the floor. Gently coaxing the glowing embers with the poker, Proxa finally succeeded in making the wood catch. She stood and brushed her hands off, pausing a moment to watch the flame grow, devouring the proffered scraps, and gave a satisfied smile.   
  
Turning, she hurried to the couch, dismissing the task of raising the hem of her dress – a preemptive strike at a clumsy stumble – as too time consuming. She dropped herself onto the plush cushion, then turned to face Nara as she pulled her legs onto the seat, unconsciously mimicking her already situated companion.   
  
"You know, Proxa, I was just thinking – what if our little hideaway was discovered? What if my mother just walked in her, right now, and pulled me out by the hair?" Nara twirled her finger through a stray strand of hair. "If my mother knew that I was spending my nights gossiping with my handmaiden…"  
  
Proxa sighed, "You know very well that your mother would not risk damaging that lovely hair of yours. She wouldn't mind damaging your eardrums, mind you, but no one can see those," the girl rolled her eyes. "Her Majesty would not object to you gossiping to your slave girl in private, as long as no one of importance saw you, she'd just be furious that you're taking the horrible risk of waking with bags under your eyes in the morrow." Proxa's voice had taken on a sneeringly sarcastic tone, though no feature – save those eyes – reflected the emotion.   
  
"Proxa, you know you're not my slave. You've ne-"  
  
But the girl cut her mistress off with a wave of her hand, "I am merely playing, milady. I know that you have always considered me your equal – an equal who tends to your every whim, but still, an equal. For that, I thank you." She abruptly shifted so her body was leaning more comfortably, more relaxed, against the soft backrest, "Now, enough of that; onto what we came in here to discuss."   
  
A devilish grin was shared by the two, accompanied by stifled fit of laughter which echoed slightly in the commodious room. Recovering herself, Proxa prompted, "Well? Was I right?"  
  
Nara flung herself back, over the armrest, "Ohhh, you were *so* right. The Jedi have the most delicious beings among their ranks. I only wish they would leave some of that perfection for the rest of us."  
  
Proxa sighed, "Yes, he was gorgeous, wasn't he? That spiked ginger hair, the cute little dimpled chin, and I even didn't mind the braid – What?" Nara was staring at her, an eyebrow raised. "What?"  
  
"That's the apprentice," she stated flatly, as if her meaning was the most obvious thing on all of Remula.  
  
"So?"  
  
"He's just a boy. Not even a Jedi yet." The incredulous look left her face as she continued, "Now, the tall one, with the long hair, he – *he* – is a Jedi."  
  
The handmaiden laughed uncertainly, but quickly sobered as it became clear her mistress was quite serious, "He's, like, sixty,"  
  
Nara brushed off the comment, "He's distinguished. Besides, the other looks as if he's five years old."  
  
Proxa bristled, "He's nineteen, a year older than we, milady."   
  
Standing, Nara straightened her simple, yet costly dress, "Yes, well, be that as it may, I believe that I prefer the long-haired master to his scrawny padawan. But to each her own, right Proxa?" Nara waited for her companion to nod, "Fine, from a certain perspective, it's better this way. I can have what I want, and you – can have what you want."  
  
The girl walked over towards the heavy door, resting her hand on the golden handle, "Be a dear and blow out the candles. I must get to sleep – wouldn't want the circles under my eyes to give us away, now would we? " She smiled and pulled open the door, walking out into the hall, her slippered feet padding softly on the stone floor.   
  
"Yes, milady," Proxa muttered after her departed mistress, "he is mine."   
  
  
* * *   
  
  
"The Force hates us."  
  
Qui-Gon Jinn barely suppressed a smile, "Padawan, the Force does *not* hate us. The Council does."   
  
The Jedi master absently glanced at the mirror checking – more out of habit than need, for years of practice had virtually eliminated the necessity – to be sure his hair had been pulled back flawlessly – which it had – before continuing. "If the Force hated us, you can be assured we would be doing something *far* more painful than mediating a planet's initiation into the Republic. Cleaning Master Yoda's quarters comes to mind."   
  
Qui-Gon exited the small 'fresher and walked to the emerald green cushioned set of chairs – one of which currently occupied by a certain good-naturedly brooding padawan – and sat in the chair opposite. Picking up the mug left standing since the master had finally gotten his turn in the refresher, he sipped it – grimacing at the taste of the sugary syrup which settled out as the once steaming tea had cooled – before replacing the cup and turning back to the boy – if he could still be called such – sitting across from him. "This will be an excellent learning experience. Not all missions need require us to revise our final will and testament."   
  
"But those are the most fun ones," Obi-Wan responded, smiling slightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement, "Every time I have a new tunic or pair of boots to decide who to leave to. You should see how the other padawans treat me when they hear I've received a new assignment – or a new datapad."   
  
Qui-Gon rose, walked past his apprentice – ruffling the ginger spikes, still damp from the boy's shower, "Brat."  
  
The master grabbed his robe from the twisted gold stand – measuring a few meters tall – next to the entrance to the chambers. As he shrugged it on, he called to his apprentice, "Come, Padawan. We can't be late for our meeting with Her Majesty. Royals – and many others, come to think of it – are not fond of being kept waiting."  
  
He plucked Obi-Wan's robe from the pole, holding it out for the padawan to take. Sighing, Obi-Wan heaved himself out of the lush seat, walked over to his master, accepting his robe with a thanking smile, and followed the elder out of the room.  
  
  
  
Well? What you think? You know the drill, be a good lil Jedi and review! 


	2. Deception

Anyone want a new chapter? Here ya go!  
  
  
  
"Of course, Master Jinn, but before we get down to business, I'd like to, perhaps, take a walk with you - your padawan may come, if he must."  
  
Nara's smile - well practiced, for certain - seemed more fitting of a courtesan than a crowned princess, "We are, after all, going to be working together for some time - my mother has transferred all authority on Remula's entry into the Republic to me - and I believe I would feel more - comfortable - if I knew you better."  
  
With a degree of control not needed since his own days as a padawan, the Jedi master responded, completely ignoring Her Highness' seductive tug at the neck of her already low-cut dress, "As you wish, Your Majesty." He bowed, "And I would prefer Obi-Wan to accompany us. He is still learning the art of diplomacy and would certainly benefit from any experience he can receive."  
  
Obi-Wan, being no stranger to the desire practically pouring from the princess, reached to the bond, //Master, I do believe that I am well enough versed in the 'art of diplomacy' that if the princess does not require - or want - my presence-//  
  
His thought was abruptly cut off as another raced through the link, //Obi- Wan, you *are* coming with me, have no doubt about that. I have not the practice that you, my cheeky padawan, have when it comes to - lust - and would prefer not to be placed alone in a potentially compromising position.//  
  
Nara clapped her hands together, "Excellent! Now, if you will excuse me, I will go freshen up for our outing. Meet me at the south entrance, near the gardens, in one standard hour. Proxa, come." She rose from her gilded throne, touching the hand of the maiden standing next to her - Proxa, apparently - and gracefully made her way down the seemingly infinite stone steps - their centers obscured by a carpet of deep crimson - handmaiden in tow. She brushed past Qui-Gon - accidentally, of course - and, as etiquette dictated, apologized profusely before flashing another smile - and the accompanying leer - and continuing on to her chambers.  
  
* * *  
  
The two walked down the hallway, each thankful there was no sentient near enough to shake their heads at the giggling or scold for grins which would, obviously, give the princess' fine skin premature wrinkles.  
  
"He was even more gorgeous close up!" Nara skipped in front of Proxa, grabbing the girl's hands and forcing her to a stop, "And now, we're going for a walk in the garden. Oh, this is perfect!"  
  
Proxa smiled. Yes, she thought, simply perfect.  
  
Nara tightened her grip and pulled her handmaiden down the hallway, "Come along, we have work to do. I have to pick out a dress - something a bit less conservative, I think - redo my hair, pick out sandals to wear.and only an hour to do it!" Her face blanched at the thought of the miniscule amount of given time and she hastily released Proxa, forgot eighteen years of propriety, and sprinted to her room.  
  
* * *  
  
Nara walked down the hallway leading to the south entrance, Proxa beside her, each girl stunningly - though Proxa very simply - dressed in pale pastel chiffon, light and flowing. Nara's, however, clung so tightly to her thin frame that it made Obi-Wan wonder - though he was quite certain of the answer - exactly what would happen were she to attempt to bend.  
  
The girls paused as the hallway ended and an archway opened into a large exiting chamber - actually, more of an overhang - opening into the lush palace gardens where waited two - as those gazing upon them would agree - images of pure perfection.  
  
Forcing down the flush which threatened to overwhelm her cheeks, Nara - conscious of her dress' rather extreme constrictions on free movement - continued on towards the Jedi as Proxa took her place slightly behind the young princess.  
  
"Now, remember Proxa. If all goes as planned - and it will," Nara turned her head only slightly - only enough for Proxa to observe the hungry smile gracing her lips, "we will meet at the eighteenth hour in the private dining room. There's nothing like a private dinner for tw- four after a day of - strenuous activity."  
  
Her voice rose to slightly above normal - quite a few decibels above her conspiratorial last words - alerting the Jedi, had they not already been aware, to her presence. "Ah, Master Jinn, I apologize for the wait - my dear Proxa here had difficulties choosing a suitable dress."  
  
Ignoring Proxa's annoyed glare at being blamed for her mistress' lengthy primping time, she continued, "Shall we go? I thought we might tour the gardens. Then I could show you around the city, get you better acquainted with my people and my planet."  
  
"Yes, Your Majesty," Qui-Gon responded, bowing - and averting his eyes from the far greater, though he didn't believe it possible, amount of cleavage shown in this dress than its predecessor - Obi-Wan following in suit.  
  
"Excellent." Nara looped her arm around Qui-Gon's, forcing him to begin walking down the well-cared for path, pointing out uniquely native plants and the occasional bird or tamed animal as the padawan and handmaiden, as dictated by their position - and the latter's preference - strolled a few steps behind.  
  
* * *  
  
"Come, now, let's go into the city."  
  
Nara pulled her Jedi toy up to the cast iron gate, motioning for the guard to allow them passage, and exited. Both "shadows," as Nara had referred to them during her decidedly one sided conversation in the gardens - none of which actually pertained to the Jedi's mission, instead gravitating towards petty palace gossip - kept close behind, side by side.  
  
The one noticeable difference between Qui-Gon's escort and the padawan's was that Obi-Wan's had not spoken a word during the entire - hour long - walk. A trait which, in itself, the boy would have preferred to Nara's rather longwinded tendency - if it were not for the looks.  
  
She would sneak glances at him, when she believed him to be not paying attention. They would sweep across his body - lingering longer in certain areas - devouring his image, committing it to memory, and doing Force knows what to it inside her head.  
  
It was not the length of the stares which bothered him - he had become accustomed to far longer - but their intensity. The raw desire gleaming in her eyes, honestly, creeped him out.  
  
The tour continued, the princess constantly pointing out landmarks or greeting commoners who obviously had never seen let alone been spoken to by a monarch.  
  
"Oh, they're just intimidated by you, Master Jinn. Never having seen a Jedi, it's enough to frighten almost anyone." The statement was followed by another of the girl's trademarked smiles.  
  
She turned down a dimly alley. "This is the shortest way to the town square. There are some fascinating statues documenting the victory of the Thrimolans over the Eranas there that I just know you'll love." She turned to him again, "I am normally terrified to come this way, but with you here."  
  
Her flattery was cut short by a small cry from behind.  
  
Jedi master and princess turned, Qui-Gon's hand falling to his lightsaber then from it as he realized the problem.  
  
Obi-Wan was kneeling at Proxa's side, gently examining her ankle. He turned it slightly and she gasped, pulling his hand away.  
  
Nara hurried - as quickly as her gown would allow - to her friend's side, dropping down slowly, "Proxa, what happened?"  
  
Proxa growled, grabbing a handful of the now torn gown and throwing it down, "I tripped over this damn dress." She rotated her foot slightly, grimacing, "I think my ankle might be sprained."  
  
"Oh, poor thing! Perhaps this Jedi might be so kind as to help you," Nara gestured towards the still kneeling Obi-Wan.  
  
He glanced briefly at the princess before responding, "Of course I would, Your Highness."  
  
"Thank you, Owni-Wan," she said offhandedly, her attention back on Qui-Gon as she held out her hand to be helped up. "We will continue on, while you take her back to the palace."  
  
With a subtle wink to Proxa, Nara - again attached at Qui-Gon's hip - walked out of the alleyway, already commenting on the architecture of another building - strikingly similar to all the other structures on Remula, though each had been deemed "unique" by the princess.  
  
As the voices - mainly Nara's - faded, Obi-Wan turned back to Proxa, "Can you stand?"  
  
He helped her up and held her while she gingerly put weight on her ankle, gasping almost instantly. She pulled her leg off the ground and leaned back into the padawan, "No, I don't think so."  
  
Obi-Wan steadied her, "Fine, then I'll carry you." He lowered his arms, careful to keep the girl upright as he went down, and scooped her up, tucking the excess material trailing from her dress into his elbow so as not to trip and add a few more injuries to the broken ankle.  
  
The handmaiden pulled her hands from the folds of her dress and wrapped them around the padawan's neck, burying her face in his worn-smooth robe.  
  
"Are you comfortable?" Obi-Wan looked down, not able to suppress a smile. The girl was quite pretty, actually, and he didn't really mind her snuggling up against him. Not that he would entertain thoughts unbefitting of his Jedi training, but it was.nice.  
  
She opened her eyes and pulled away slightly, a faint blush climbing into her cheeks, "Yes, very."  
  
The blush soon left, but her gaze did not waver. The previous feeling of "niceness" had gone and in its place rose a strange unease - a fleeting glimmer of anxiety. He cleared his throat and spoke, "Is there something the matter?"  
  
Proxa cocked her head and gave a half sort of smile, "No," she paused, pulling herself closer to him and, raising a hand, stroked the cropped hair, "Everything is perfect."  
  
The girl then pulled herself up, her lips easily finding his, distracting the padawan as the small hypospray was positioned at the base of his skull. The kiss ended, the button depressed, and Obi-Wan's world went abruptly black.  
  
Hmmm, things are getting interesting for our lovely padawan, no? What'd ya think? As always, be good lil Jedi and review. 


	3. MIA

Here's chapter two. Hope it was worth the wait. :D  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
"Oh, I feel just awful about your pocket chrono!"  
  
Nara waved her hand impatiently at the guard on duty, silent indication - he could only assume - for the gate to be opened, allowing for the admittance of both her - and the Jedi Her Highness was most unceremoniously clinging to.  
  
The doors parted and the pair passed through the twisted gold archway, finding themselves on the narrow garden path for the second time that day, this time lacking their two companions.  
  
"Your Majesty, I have already forgiven you," Qui-Gon replied, his voice without a trace of the exasperation churning inside him, "twice."  
  
"I know." Her crimson lips pulled into a slight frown, "It's just that it was, after all, my fault that it fell in the water."  
  
No, Qui-Gon thought, it was my fault for allowing you to take it.  
  
The two were standing at the side of a beautifully ornate fountain - a fountain whose splendor was not lost to the Jedi master, though with detail present in Nara's narrative one might have thought he had never seen water before. As the princess began her third circle of the small pool, his hand slowly slipped down to the pocket of his robe - no sudden movements, so as not to draw her attention - and carefully drew from the cloth a small, brass chrono. One glance and it was safely back in the depths of his pocket. The glance, however, was not quick enough to escape the eye of the infatuated.  
  
Nara hastily finished her journey round the fountain, positioning herself on the edge closest to Qui-Gon and beckoning him to sit with her. She danced around the subject of the chrono before pointblank asking to see it.  
  
'It's charmingly rugged,' she had said, 'Just like you.'  
  
He's patience soon wore thin as the princess' fascination with the rudimentary time-telling device bordered on absurd. However, her final question - is it waterproof? - to which he answered negatively, found the chrono sinking to the shallow bottom of the fountain bed and Nara cursing her application of lotion - rubbed on a mere six hours prior.  
  
Now, the princess allowed the master to guide her through the winding path, as if she had never laid eyes on its beaten walkway before. "And to make matters worse, we are now late for our dinner." Using her free hand - the one not clutching Qui-Gon's robe - she pulled a stray curl from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear, "I'm sure Proxa has your apprentice suitably entertained."  
  
Qui-Gon, far from dumb to the meaning behind her words, sped up his pace. "I am sorry, Your Highness," he spoke to the young girl struggling to keep at his side, "But I had forgotten how long it has been since Obi-Wan last ate. Low blood sugar is not an issue to be taken lightly. We shouldn't keep them waiting." Nara sputtered, now at the man's side, but hard-pressed to remain there, "Y- yes, of course. I wouldn't dream of doing anything detrimental to the boy's health."  
  
Soon they reached the small dining room - candles lit, four places set with the most exquisitely hand-painted cutlery on planet, and a small group of musicians strumming native instruments, setting the princess' desired mood, romantic, perfectly - but there was no sign that either Proxa or Obi-Wan had set foot in the chamber.  
  
Qui-Gon sighed, past experiences had proven that searching for a missing padawan had proven difficult - at best, "Perhaps they are in Proxa's chambers?" Despite his suggested situation, the Jedi master did not once give backing to the thought that teenage hormones could overpower a lifetime of instruction. Such feelings of lust, while not forbidden - as no one could actually prevent their conception - were dangerous. Rather, attachments formed - for either party - as they posed to compromise a Jedi's ability to complete assignments, were forbidden. Obi-Wan knew this, and respected the reasoning behind it.  
  
Nara, apparently not holding as much faith in the padawan, whistled quietly, "A new palace record."  
  
* * *  
  
//Run, I have to run!  
  
Can't stop, she's coming. She can't have me if she can't catch me.  
  
I'm not safe here, no one knows - only her.  
  
Only her.  
  
No, I won't let her take me. She can't have me if I just say no. That's what I'll do.and I'll be safe.  
  
Oh, Force! There she is! How did she get here? She won't leave me alone!  
  
Tell her.Tell her, now! She can't have you.  
  
Why is she laughing? This isn't funny. She can't take me, I won't let her.It will never happen.  
  
She stopped; she knows. No! What is she doing? Put it down! Put it DOWN!  
  
A flash of blue and the singed air envelopes me. NO! Why did she do that? The pain.Oh, how it hurts! Please, no! Oh Force, please!  
  
And all is numb.  
  
The sun rises.what is that old saying?  
  
Pink sky tonight, sailor's delight.pink sky in morn, sailors be warn.  
  
And darkness descends.//  
  
Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered and a cool hand stroked his face - barely touching, but enough to pull the Jedi from his drug-induced slumber. His lashes parted, revealing the merest sliver of the whites beneath, as his brain reactivated itself, attempting to push the warm mist infesting his mind far into its depths, content to deal with it later.  
  
What happened? The fog had wormed its way into the tiniest crevices of his head, leaving all everything - cloudy. Nothing had been taken by it, only.obscured. He remembered the palace.the princess.the darkness.  
  
Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut, willing his thoughts to clear. No, that wasn't a memory. That was a.what was it? A dream? A vision? If only he could think!  
  
The padawan groaned and dragged his lead-heavy eyelids open. The lights in the room - yes, it was a room - were dim, but painful nonetheless. A cursory glance revealed little. He was in a small bedchamber, simply furnished with one coarse, wooden dresser with a small mirror attached, and, of course, the bed he was lying on, which was directly across from the bureau.  
  
Obi-Wan focused on the reflection glaring back at him, barely discernable due to lack of illumination. His still-numb body stiffened slightly, muscles - at the moment rendered useless - coiled as he slowly, for that was the top speed he could manage, turned from his back onto his side, his neck straining against the small pile of pillows his head had been laid on.  
  
She was there.  
  
She was there, and she was staring at him, her head propped by a bent arm, her brown eyes piercing into his, her hair fanned out on the pillow, cascading down her chest and over the gown. She lifted a hand, touching it lightly to Obi-Wan's soft spikes, smoothing his hair, then, with a single finger, tracing down his jaw-line, before finally resting it softly on his smooth cheek.  
  
He tried to speak; tried to ask her what she was doing, what she wanted, but his tongue seemed ill-fit for talking, and designed for choking. He sputtered reflexively, incoherently gurgling the questions his brain screamed for answers to.  
  
"Hush, my Sweet," her words meant to soothe, but resulting in renewed choking and gagging. "All will be well, I promise. I am here."  
  
Obi-Wan struggled desperately against whatever substance was holding him down, ordering arms to push his body up and his legs to swing off the side of the bed, but neither complied. His body jerked spasmodically in response, certain areas of the muscles trying to follow directions while the rest remained unfeeling.  
  
Proxa hushed him, stroking his face and petting his hair, attempting to calm him, but only further agitating the apprentice. She pulled herself from the bed - where she had been kneeling over Obi-Wan, now lying on his back again - and ran over to the dresser, yanking open the top, right drawer. She snatched a hypo from its depths and rushed back to the bed, beside Obi-Wan.  
  
"Sleep, my Love," the small device found its way to the boy's tender neck and, for the second time in as many hours, Obi-Wan was plunged back into the unconscious.  
  
Proxa leaned over him, placing a gentle kiss on his slack lips, "Sleep well."  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
As always, be a good lil Jedi and review. :D 


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